


Coming Home

by deathishauntedbyhumans



Category: Deadpool (Movieverse), Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Drunk Sex, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000, more like tipsy sex but i don’t think that’s a tag, no beta we die like men, there’s something trying really hard to be a plot but... it’s just Not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 15:27:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17327567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathishauntedbyhumans/pseuds/deathishauntedbyhumans
Summary: Peter B. Parker and Wade Wilson finally get it on over some shitty beers.





	Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a play on words and y’know what I’m not even mad abt it.

Peter isn’t exactly sure how they ended up like this, but he sure as hell isn’t complaining.

“Holy shit,” he pants, and Wade smirks against his lips and squeezes his ass hard enough to make Peter moan.

The night had started innocently enough, with the exhausted duo of vigilantes traipsing into Peter’s apartment at a quarter past ten after narrowly preventing a series of explosions on a nearby bridge. It had been a harrowing night, and after they’d both showed up and helped each other —and the cops, but they’ve never been able to do their job, so it isn’t exactly a surprise that they were absolutely incapable— out, Peter had caught Wade before he could rush off in his stupid cab and asked if he wanted to come drink some shitty beer and order a pizza back at his apartment.

Wade had visibly brightened at the offer, even under the concealing mask of his Deadpool suit. From there, it had been a simple cab ride back to Peter’s apartment, and then they’d drank a few beers, ordered a couple pizzas. They’d had another beer; the pizzas had arrived, and then, the pizzas had been eaten.

For the life of him, Peter isn’t completely sure who made the first move. Not that it really matters, when Wade’s hips are rolling against his own, when his mouth is sealed firmly over Peter’s. When Peter arches his back as much as he can against the couch behind him, he feels rather than hears the muffled moan Wade lets out, and he swallows the sound up greedily as he works his tongue into Wade’s pliant mouth.

It’s the first time things have actually escalated this far between them, but it’s been a long time coming. Between Wade’s incessant flirting and Peter’s too-long dry spell, there’s only so much that could've happened before something finally snapped.

They’d both changed into civilian clothes upon arriving to the apartment, with Peter in a t-shirt and sweatpants and Wade in a pullover hoodie and jeans. It makes it so much easier now for Peter to shove his hands beneath the waistband of Wade’s pants and grab his ass to maneuver him closer, closer, until their hips are aligned in _just_ the right way for Peter to see stars when Wade thrusts his hips down into him. From the sound of Wade’s hissed _yes_ , Peter is pretty sure he’s got unanimous approval.

Alcohol and lust cloud his judgement and feed his actions, so Peter isn’t thinking of consequences when he lets his head fall back against the cushions, when he lets Wade suck a bruise into his neck. He can barely think at all, especially when Wade’s face comes into view and he’s _smirking_ that god-awful smirk he gets whenever he’s had what Peter knows he’s got a bad idea. (Except this time, Peter doesn’t think his idea is bad at all.)

“I’m gonna suck your dick so hard,” Wade says to him in a cocky murmur that _absolutely shouldn’t be sexy_ , except it _is_ because Peter is tipsy and Wade is real and tangible and he’s touching him like he matters, like something actually _matters_ to him. Peter’s breathing stutters helplessly as Wade’s grin gets wider.

An impossibly rough hand wraps around Peter’s dick before he even realises that Wade has undone the button on his pants, and he doesn’t bother to hold back the groan that slides desperately from his lips as Wade’s fingers tease achingly slowly over his aching member. And then, without warning, Wade shoves his shoulders just roughly enough to make a shock of adrenaline run through him and slides down his body until his mouth is level with his cock.

And he stays there, breathing against the tip of Peter’s dick, until Peter looks down at him with eyes he knows have gone impossibly wide.

“Been a while,” Wade finally admits in a rough voice. He doesn’t give Peter a chance to respond, though, before he takes Peter’s dick into his mouth experimentally, tongue lapping at the head.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Peter breathes out harshly, his hands scrabbling for purchase as the wet heat catches up to his hazed-out brain. One hand twists itself in the hood of Wade’s sweatshirt, and the other finds the back of Wade’s neck underneath the thick material and grips hard. He does his best to keep his hips from reacting, but they jerk a little regardless, the stimulation overwhelming his senses more than he can try to control.

Luckily, Wade seems to realise as much, because he slides one hand up to rest against Peter’s hip, pressing him down just hard enough to keep the tiny, spastic movement of his lower body from becoming a problem. And once he’s taken care of that…

It quickly becomes apparent that, despite any misgivings he might have had, Wade is _very_ good with his mouth. It shouldn’t be surprising; Wade is _always_ good with his mouth. Peter’s just never thought about it in this kind of context before.

(That’s a blatant lie. Peter has thought about Wade in this context _so much_ he’s pretty sure his right hand has arthritis because of it. Not that _that’s_ anyone’s business but his own.)

Wade only pulls off once, with an obscene popping sound, and Peter can feel himself flush red all the way down his chest as Wade stares up at him, reddened lips glistening in the shitty light from the lamp in the corner of the room.

“Having fun?” he asks, and his voice is raspy, a reminder of the dick he’s just had in his mouth. Peter blushes impossibly darker, but he lets himself smile as languidly as he can with the pressure he can feel building inside of him.

“Only a little,” he replies.

Wade slaps a hand against his thigh, startling Peter a little, but mostly serving to turn him on even further. “Ooh, somebody’s cheeky,” he teases. Peter’s only response is to use the hand on Wade’s neck to push him impatiently back towards his cock.

For once, Wade actually does what Peter wants him to. He wraps his mouth obediently around his dick and _sucks_ , hollowing his cheeks and moving his tongue about in some technique that Peter’s sure should be _illegal._ Peter throws his head back against the back of the couch so hard he nearly gets whiplash, but it’s worth it for Wade to hum smugly around his dick as he takes him deeper.

It’s not long before Peter can feel himself teetering on the edge, and he gasps out a warning to Wade, the hand tangled in his sweatshirt tightening, twisting, tugging and pulling and pushing. He half-expects Wade to pull off again, to tease him or laugh at him or do something equally _Deadpool_ , but he doesn’t. His free hand merely reaches back to deftly untangle Peter’s hand from his sweatshirt and tug it down, and suddenly their fingers are laced together and Peter can’t remember the last time he had any kind of sex with any shred of intimacy like that and he _comes_ , embarrassingly hard, right down Wade’s throat.

And Wade takes it. At least, Peter’s pretty sure he takes it, because he’s _also_ pretty sure that he blacks out for a second when he finally hits his climax. But when he looks down again, Wade has pulled off his dick and is licking his lips in a ridiculously catlike manner whilst looking immensely pleased with himself.

“C’mere,” is all Peter says when their eyes meet. He tugs loosely on Wade’s hand, still loosely linked with his own, and Wade lets Peter pull him up, until he’s situated comfortably on Peter’s lap. Peter’s mind is delightfully hazy, lulled into a state of ultimate security by the post-orgasmic bliss and the weight against him. A good part of him is sure he’s going to fall asleep, but he refuses to let that part of himself —the _old man_ part— win until he’s reciprocated. He can feel Wade’s dick against his thigh with the way he’s sitting, and when he shifts, Wade’s eyes go glassy for a second before refocusing.

“Didn’t know all it took to shut you up was a dick in your mouth,” Peter states lightly, and Wade sticks his tongue out before pouting good-naturedly.

“There’s a lot I can do with my mouth, babe,” he quips back, and then makes a kissy face. Peter huffs out a laugh before sliding a hand lazily down the front of Wade’s sweatshirt until he lands against the zip of his jeans. Wade’s voice is almost harsh with the way he’s rasping, throat obviously working hard to force sound out; Peter can’t help the satisfaction bubbling sleepily in the back of his mind at the fact that _he_ ’s the one that made Wade sound like that.

“I bet.” It takes a second for Peter’s fumbling fingers to get the zip and button undone, with Wade’s hips rocking just slightly into his hand and disrupting his progress, but he finally manages, and Wade’s cock immediately frees itself from the confines of his jeans. “God, you _would_ go commando,” he adds with a huff of laughter. “Doesn’t that chafe? In the suit?”

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it— _haah, fuck_ ,” is Wade’s reply as Peter wraps his hand around Wade’s dick and gives a nice, steady downward stroke. “Oh, _shit_ , Parker.”

Peter grins, well-aware that his touch is just languid enough to put Wade on edge, and cups the back of his neck with his other hand, tugging Wade in for a kiss.

It’s shallower than their other kissing, the frantic, desperate making out they’d been doing from the start of this entire encounter. It’s no less heated, though, and Peter continues to stroke Wade off as they kiss, swallowing every little sound that spills from his lips. When he does pull back to breathe, Peter finds Wade staring at him with half-lidded eyes and a gaze that’s barely in-focus. It strikes a chord within Peter somewhere. People don’t _look_ at him like that. People might look at _Spider-Man_ like that, with unconcealed lust or desire or need, but they don’t look at _Peter Parker_ like that, because Peter’s just your normal, boring, everyday average Joe who eats too much pizza and binge watches weird Netflix cooking shows when he’s bored.

But Wade is looking at him like he’s _more_ than that, and he’s looking at _Peter_ like that, and Peter kisses him again more forcefully and Wade _melts_ into him.

When Wade comes a moment later, it’s with a muffled curse into Peter’s mouth before he bites down almost-too-hard on Peter’s lower lip.

Wade collapses on top of him, his weight warm and comforting despite the sticky mess Peter knows they have to deal with (sooner rather than later) and Peter wraps his arms around him lazily and rests his chin against the top of Wade’s head. “I think I’m bleeding,” he comments lightly, fondly, amusedly. Wade grunts and nibbles at his collarbone, presumably in an attempt to shut him up, and Peter laughs and smacks him half-heartedly on the ass. Wade gives a final suck to his neck and then releases the skin he has between his teeth.

“I don’t think I’m up for another round yet, babe, but if you wanna slap my ass in the shower, I wouldn’t be opposed,” he mumbles. The realisation of the offer spreads over Peter like a slow dunk in warm water, tingling in his fingers and toes and settling easily in his chest. He’s less tipsy, and he’s sure Wade is, too, but he’s sticky and sated and _happy_. Maybe they’ll have to deal with consequences later, or… maybe they won’t. Either way, Peter’s dealt with worse shit before.

“I might take you up on that, _babe,”_ Peter replies, throwing extra emphasis on the pet name. He can _feel_ Wade smiling against his neck, and when he shuts his eyes and just _relaxes,_ for the first time in a long time, he feels like he’s come home.

**Author's Note:**

> I still don’t know how to write smut.
> 
> Come scream at me on tumblr @deathishauntedbyhumans. Kudos/comments are love.


End file.
